Arnor's Hope
by Aelineth
Summary: It was once thought to be lost, never to be seen by light. The line that was shamed remains, yet only one of the line still walks the earth. She lives in exile, her footsteps but a shadow. The rising of Isildur's heir could change it all. She must bring the crown to Gondor. But not without great difficulty. It is a test of strength, will, and love.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Some of you may be following my other story, _The Ranger_, and I want to let you know not to worry to those who are reading it. I have not given up on it and will not, but _Arnor's Hope_ has become my main priority at the moment so I am putting _The Ranger_ on a hopefully short-term pause. That being said, I hope you will find this new story enjoyable. This is my first AragornxOC and I am working extra hard to keep Aragorn's character in check in the coming chapters. I would like to thank my beta reader, Hidden Valor, for her wonderful help with this chapter. Without her, the story would not be possible!**

**I would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter. Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is worshiped!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Evendim. The splendor of Annúminas. It was Elendil himself who had established Annúminas many years ago, but all there was now were ruins, lost in the waters, a lake of glimmering beauty whenever the light of the sun and moon shined upon it. Beyond Annúminas lay an island that stretched far along the shores; it was well inhabited, many of which were Dúnedain and rangers of the North. The beauty of Evendim seemed endless.<p>

It was home, but Annúngil was not welcome.

She made camp on a cliffside on the outskirts of Evendim. She would come silently and make camp, and come into the town hooded and her face concealed. It was not a strange appearance to the people, and they did not question it. The rangers of the North throughout Evendim were garbed in the same manner. To them, she was a ranger, but she knew otherwise.

Annúngil pulled the hood over her head with a sigh. She wistfully looked towards the shores of Lake Evendim. She did not know what the day held for her. What she hoped to see may not remain to be. It had been some time since she last laid her eyes upon her home. Evendim could have fallen further into ruin, and its beauty spent and lying in stone and dust. Annúngil feared what she would see, or what she would not see. But she remained hopeful. And so she sheathed her sword, tied it to her waist, retrieved her bow and quiver, and on she went to the encampment.

Her hope diminished when she came to the town. Age had taken hold of Evendim, and the foundations and wondrous stones had been taken by the water. All that was left was small campfires, blankets, and tents. She did not recognize any of the homes. It was just as Annúngil feared. The war had reached many lands and brought ruin to many homes. Evendim was no exception.

Annúngil soon found what she was looking for. It was a small tent, built near the remains of a stone wall close to the shore. The tent was old and its color faded. Annúngil quickly slipped inside the tent and quietly closed flaps behind her. Her eyes wandered around the tent, and a small smile came to her lips as she recognized some of the belongings.

A young woman knelt in the back of the tent, her back turned to Annúngil. She was rummaging through a small chest, clearly paying no mind to her guest. "Thank you, ranger, but I am not all that hungry at the moment," she said.

Annúngil smiled, pushed back her hood, and pulled down the mask that covered her face. "What about a visit from your sister?"

The young woman gasped. She quickly turned, and a wide smile came to her face. Immediately, she stood to her feet and ran to her. "Annúngil!"

"Aníriel!" Annúngil hugged her tightly, pressing several kisses to her hair. "Oh, how wonderful it is to see you!"

"I missed you," Aníriel murmured in her shoulder. She laughed and pulled back. "Where have you been? How has the wild fared you? Have you killed any Orcs?"

"One question at a time!" Annúngil replied. "But first—" She suddenly grew serious, and Aníriel knew what she was concerned about. "Is it safe?"

Aníriel nodded. "Yes."

"Show me."

"This way." Aníriel crossed over to her bedding and pulled a wrapped bundle out from underneath it; she held it out to her sister. Annúngil carefully took the bundle in her hands and unwrapped it, revealing a silver circlet. It was elegant, fitted more for a queen than a mere maiden. A white gem affixed to the front was the only adornment. It was small and smooth, and opal-shaped. The circlet glistened in the sunlight that peaked through the tent, but the gem, white as snow, had its own inner glow and shone brightly.

"Good. It is still here," Annúngil said. She smiled at her sister. "Excellent, Aníriel. Keep it here. It is safer than it could ever be in my hands."

Aníriel appeared to be hesitant. After a moment, she nodded and took it but said nothing. Her silence did not go unnoticed, and her thoughts were not unknown to Annúngil.

"Aníriel, you know it is not possible—"

"Stay."

Annúngil sighed at her words.

"The crown is yours to possess, not mine," Aníriel said. "You can stay, Annúngil. Stay disguised as a ranger. They will not know it is you."

"Aníriel," Annúngil said softly. "I cannot. You know this."

"Your sister needs you."

Annúngil pursed her lips together. Aníriel had always been her weakness. Nothing pained her more than to depart from her home and leave her young sister behind; she wanted nothing more than to take Aníriel with her, but she knew she could not. "I can't stay here," Annúngil repeated, her voice tender. "If they find who you are, they will exile you from here too."

"I am willing to take that chance," Aníriel replied. "Why must I live a life of grief and loneliness, but they can live happily with their hearts contented?"

"They mean no harm. They are only trying to protect their people—"

"They are blinded by their anger!" Aníriel argued. "They cannot see beyond their own grief of how long ago this happened – far before you were born into this world. They do not know what they see because they care not to, and all their anger and ill tidings of the ages before must be set upon on one person. One family. Our family." Aníriel closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "I can go with you in the wild," she said. "Together we can hunt and fight Orcs, and travel to all the places we heard of when we were children."

Annúngil was quick to speak. "No," she said. "You do not know how to execute a sword, let alone hold one. It is too dangerous for you." The bright sparkle of determination in Aníriel's eyes did not fade. Annúngil always admired her for it but this time she detested it. She opened her mouth to speak but Annúngil was quick to interrupt her. "You belong here in Evendim. Your home."

"It is your home too. You belong here."

"I do not anymore."

"I belong with my sister."

"As it should always be. But I cannot stay, and you cannot go with me. The life in the wild is not all what you may think, and the moment you stand amidst the grass and trees and you breathe in the thick air, you will greatly desire to return home. You are safer here, and so is the crown. Please, Aníriel…" Annúngil placed her hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a loving smile. "If not for me, then for the sake of the duty our family failed to do. Protect the crown."

There was a long silence. Aníriel spent a great deal of that time looking at the covering that hid the crown, but Annúngil saw the hesitance in her eyes like the starry night. After some time, Aníriel returned her gaze to her sister and nodded slowly. "Very well," she sighed. "The crown will be protected and will remain here. As will I." The disdain was clear in Aníriel's voice, but the relief on Annúngil's face was greater than her sister's scorn.

Annúngil smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you, my dearest Aníriel. This is the greatest duty any could be given. One day, Gondor will thank you for this, and our family no longer will walk in shame wherever we tread. But heed my words; the wild is no place for any woman. I know as children you desired to be like me, but I say to you, those words hold no value now that we are grown. You do not want to be like me."

Annúngil promised to return by morning and left. With her face masked and her hood drawn over her head, Annúngil quickly left Evendim and returned to her camp. Night was falling, and she did not want to get caught in the midst of the wild animals once darkness had settled upon the earth.

By the time she arrived to her camp, the sun had completely set and disappeared behind the craggy cliffs and fallen stones and the thicket of trees. Annúngil built a fire and reclined back on the ground, using a log to prop her up. It was not the most comfortable; the ground was cold, and the log was hard and pressed into her back. But it was a comfort she was accustomed to living with, and anything other than the hard ground would be foreign to her. She had spent twelve years living in the wild—hunting, traveling, bearing through the cold and heat, and sleepless nights, fighting Orcs. Surviving. This was home.

But she would never be welcomed wherever she walked. This was the vow of her suffering.

Annúngil looked towards the east, at Evendim. She smiled. _Dearest Aníriel, war is not for you, and neither is the wild. How greatly you desire adventure. To fight in this war, and kill every Orc to avenge our mother and father's death. But no matter how many Orcs you kill you will never be content, and the anger you have will continue to rise within._

By dawn, she would be gone from Evendim's view and continue her way. She would not say goodbye to Aníriel. Her stay was too dangerous.

Annúngil was soon lulled to sleep by the soft crackles of the fire. It was a cold night, but her cloak and the fire provided her warmth. Annúngil barely stirred and would have slept through the night had she not been awoken by faint sounds. The bright blur of her fire nearly blinded her, and it took her a moment to adjust her vision, but then she realized the bright blur was not coming from her fire. It had dimmed by the passing hours, and only a small speckle of light came from it. The bright blur was coming from elsewhere. Annúngil raised her head and looked to the east.

Evendim was ablaze.

Annúngil's eyes widened. Her whole body shook. She stared at the flames for what seemed like forever. "No…" Annúngil whispered. "No! Aníriel!"

Annúngil scrambled to her feet and raced into the forest and away from the cliffside, and hurried with all her speed to Evendim. Cries and shouts of battle rattled the earth. The flames were elongated and bright, and consumed every stone; a thick fog of smoke clouded her vision, and she struggled to breathe through the fumes. Orcs and Dunlendings covered every inch of Evendim; their number was far too great to be fought. Rangers lay on the ground already, dead and alive, and suffering. What little was left of her home was now destroyed, and there was only a small number of those who still lived.

Annúngil stumbled over her feet, frantically looking for any sight of Aníriel, but she found none. Her heart raced. Her mind whirled with many fears. "Aníriel!" Annúngil shouted in the midst of merciless cries of battle and the sounds of blades meeting together. Arrows whipped through the air like sharp knives. "Aníriel! Where are you!"

"No! Please! I beg you!"

Annúngil whirled around to see a man at the feet of a Dunlending, his long broadsword raised and ready to strike. Quickly, Annúngil withdrew a dagger from her boot and threw it at the Dunlending, hitting him in the shoulder. He cried out, dropped his sword and let go of the man. The man turned and looked at Annúngil with wide eyes. "Go! Run!" Annúngil yelled. The man did not need to be told twice.

Annúngil unsheathed her own sword and lunged at the Dunlendings in a fluid motion, but he ripped the dagger from his shoulder and threw it back at her. Annúngil dodged it, grabbed him, and thrust her sword into his chest. "Leave my people alone," she growled and withdrew her sword, and the Dunlending fell to the ground.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise. Annúngil looked up and saw pieces of stone breaking from the wall. Several large pieces broke right above her. Annúngil barely dove out of harm's way in time. She flinched as the stones fell to the ground with a loud crash, and the horrific fears of the possibility her sister's fate entered her mind. She opened her eyes. She lay beside the opening of a tent. The flaps had been torn off, allowing her to see inside. The surroundings inside the tent were familiar, and the owner lay sprawled on the floor of the tent in a pool of her own blood. "No…" Annúngil hurried inside the tent, running to her sister's side.

Blood seeped through Aníriel's clothes. As Annúngil lowered to her knees at Aníriel's side, she could easily see she had already lost a lot of blood. Carefully, Annúngil cradled the young woman in her arms, using her free hand to tenderly touch her cheek. At the touch, Aníriel's eyes opened, and she smiled weakly at her sister. "Annúngil, is this what the wild is like?"

"Shh…Shh…" Annúngil ran a hand over her hair. "Do not speak."

"All I feel is pain. Every breath, every movement, every thought." Aníriel barely managed to rasp out the words.

"Shh. You will be alright," Annúngil promised softly. She gently wiped away the long trickle of blood flowing down her left temple. "Do not move. Let me look at your wounds—"

But Aníriel knew it was false hope. She grabbed her sister's hand, and pulled it away from her. She smiled again, but it was weak. Her eyes were dark; it was as if the life was slowly fading from them. "No, Annúngil." She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to gather her breath. The slightest word took great strength to get out. "There is no hope for me."

"Do not speak like that!" Annúngil scolded. The grief in her eyes was deeper than the frown on her face.

"It is true," Aníriel whispered, "Look at me. I cannot move. I cannot think. My eyes…my vision is growing dark."

Annúngil's lower lip trembled. She swallowed and pushed back her tears, tightening her hold on her sister. She shook her head. "No. Aníriel …"

"Take the crown," Aníriel said. "It should be yours. It was never mine. Take it, Annúngil. Protect it. Bring it to Gondor…" Aníriel smiled again. Her head rested against Annúngil's chest, and she was gone.

Annúngil closed her eyes tightly as the tears flowed freely this time. She let out a quiet sob, pressed Aníriel's body to hers and cradled her. She did not know how long she stayed like that, but it was not until the silence reached her ears did she realize the battle was over. Annúngil pulled back and gazed at her sister for a long moment. She pressed a kiss to her forehead and lowered her to the ground. Her eyes fell onto the soft lump underneath the blanket on Aníriel's make-shift bed.

With one last look at Aníriel, Annúngil pulled back the blanket, grabbed the crown, and stuffed it into her travel bag. Annúngil hurried out of the camp, but stopped when her eyes fell on the battle field that was her home. So many people – so many good men…gone. Annúngil tightened her jaw. No, there would be a time to grieve. Now was not the time.

Annúngil continued on her way. The fire had died down somewhat, and the smoke had lessened. There was no sign of her enemies, but that did not mean they were not still around. She had to leave, and quickly. Before she even had the chance to think what she would do – or where she would go – an arrow struck her in the shoulder. "Argh!" Annúngil cried out. She tightened her fingers around the arrow and pulled it out with a painful grunt.

Annúngil looked up but saw no one. She suddenly dropped to her knees with another cry as a dagger struck her calf. Her eyes fell on a pair of black leather boots, and she raised her head. A Dunlending stood above her, staring down at her with a sly smile. "Well, I must say, Dúnedain, you have succeeded far beyond my expectation. I did not expect anyone to be alive. But you prove to have some determination in you. I am impressed."

Annúngil didn't say anything. She merely grit her teeth against the harsh throbbing in her leg.

"However," the Dunlending began. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her up. "Do not think that I will allow you to be an exception. I think you need to show me just how strong you are."

The Dunlending pushed her to the ground. Annúngil fell silently and said nothing nor did she make an attempt to get up. The Dunlending crouched down to her level and clicked his tongue at her. "Nothing? Surely something. Or should I just kill you now – Argh!"

Annúngil swiped at the Dunlending's face with the dagger from her calf. It left a deep gash across his cheek. He turned to look at her, his eyes black as the night sky. "Now I'm angry." He stood and withdrew his sword, and moved to strike her. Annúngil quickly rolled out of the way, jumped to her feet, and withdrew her own sword in one quick motion.

"You destroyed my home." Annúngil gazed at him with dark and hateful eyes. "You killed innocent people. My sister is dead because of you. I will make sure you will suffer."

The Dunlending chuckled. "Charmed, I am, Dúnedain. But we will see if you will uphold your promise."

Annúngil was the first to strike. The Dunlending blocked it with ease, and in a swift move swung his sword at her feet. Annúngil jumped over it and blocked another attack, then smashed her head into his. It caused the Dunlending to stop and step back, and Annúngil used it to her advantage. She swung her sword at his feet as he did her, but he did not dodge it and stumbled back in pain. The battle came to an end when the Dunlending grabbed her arm in the midst of blocking an attack and turned her, and held her back to his chest with his arm around her throat. "It was a nice game but I think we know who has won." And he turned her back around sent her to the ground on her back, and her sword went flying out of her hand.

The Dunlending chuckled and knelt over her. He tilted his head and held the end of his sword right above her thigh, smirking at his defeated opponent. "There are more of us, foolish woman. Even if you managed to defeat me…" He pressed the blade against her thigh and drew a long, deep gash. Annúngil grunted in pain. "All I would have to do is blow my horn and more would come. And they would kill you." The Dunlending paused. He chuckled. "Then again…they like it when their victims suffer. Let us make sure my master is pleased."

Holding the hilt of his sword with both hands, the Dunlending pushed his blade into her thigh. Annúngil closed her eyes tightly as she cried out in pain, a sound the Dunlending enjoyed. Despite her pain and the heavy burdens of unconsciousness, Annúngil managed to speak. "You forgot one thing," she managed to say through her heavy breathing. Beneath her in her hand was an arrow she had retrieved from her quiver.

The Dunlending raised an amused eyebrow. "And what is that, Dúnedain?"

"I do not break easily." Before the Dunlending had the chance to say anything, she thrust the arrow through his throat. He quietly gasped for breath and fell back, taking his sword with him.

Annúngil gasped as the sword was pulled from her body. She laid there for a moment, trying to gather her breathing. Slowly, and with difficulty, she rose to her feet. She stumbled a few times as she retrieved her sword, pausing to look at the dead Dunlending at her feet. There would be more – and she did not care to encounter any more than the two she had tonight. But there was no chance of her limping her way out of Evendim before coming across another Dunlending, or worse, an Orc; and if she did she was certain she would barely escape in one piece.

Annúngil looked around her surroundings. She her eyes fell on a lone and frightened horse, tethered to one of the very few stoned walls that still remained. But first she would free the stallion. Annúngil rushed to the stallion, but the effort was too much for her body to bear and she fell at the animal's feet. "Shh…There, there. I am here to help you…" Still within reach, Annúngil cut his bondage with her dagger. "Go, my friend. You are free." It left her breathless, and she leaned her back against the wall to regain her breath.

But the stallion did not leave. He trotted to her, and as if sensing she was in pain, he lowered himself on the ground next to her. Annúngil managed a small smile and grasped a handful of his mane; she pulled herself on the saddle as much as she could. The horse rose and waited until she was seated fully, and then without hesitation he burst into a gallop.

"I smell Man-flesh!" Annúngil heard behind her. She quickly looked behind her to see a tall and armored Orc staring after her with eyes of hatred. He raised his arm and cried out, "After her!"

Arrows began flying through the air like rain. Annúngil ducked her head and chirruped at her horse, and she rode faster out of the entrance of Evendim – just as an arrow whizzed past her. Annúngil looked behind her. Tears welled in her eyes. When she first left her home when she was a young woman, she did not look back. She did not care to; and now, she wished she had not looked back, for what was once Evendim…was not the splendor of Annúminas. Annúngil turned her head back to the road. With a deep sigh, she laid her head on her new companion's neck and closed her eyes. Behind her was the former glory of Evendim.

* * *

><p>Breathing a quiet sigh, Aragorn closed his eyes at the soft caress of the wind. His return to Imladris, unlike most, was far from bearing pleasantries. It had been long and wearisome, and very dangerous. One companion was now resting from an injury that had burdened Aragorn's mind for many days. But they were now in Imladris, and his companion had been healed by the hands of the Elves; all could take peace and rest, until his companion was rested and well, and then would they decide the fate of the burden he carried.<p>

Although Imladris was a place for peace and respite, Aragorn did not think he could rest until the fate of the Ring was decided. That would not be for many more days. Aragorn sighed and continued with his walk, but he soon stopped. Not too far upon the slopes leading further into Imladris stood a white horse, and seated on its back was a woman. She teetered to the side and fell off the horse's back. "Ai!" Aragorn cried out and sprinted forward, running with great speed. He soon arrived to the slopes and knelt at the young woman's side. She was barely conscious, and his gentle words couldn't wake her.

Without hesitation, Aragorn lifted the woman into his arms, placed her on the horse and mounted behind her. He wrapped his arms securely around her and took the reins, chirruped loudly at the horse, and galloped swiftly to the Last Homely House.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Yay for first chapter! Please let me know of you thoughts about the chapter! An author loves receiving feedback, especially if it is a notation to help them improve. It is certainly a nice encouragement.**

**A few things I would like to address:**

**The Dunlendings; the people of Dunland and their culture intrigue me quite extensively, so I thought to use them in the story. It is probably strange to use them with Orcs to raid on a land that is pretty much in ruin, but they also serve Saruman as well and though Annúminas is nothing but ruins, it can still be used as a great service and overcome by the Enemy perhaps, though it would not be his main focus. So I thought it fitting. If it seems off to you then please let me know and I will do my best to properly fix it.**

**Annúngil's name; it means "West Star".**

**Aníriel's name; it means "Daughter of Desirer".**

**Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is worshiped!**


	2. Chapter 2

When Annúngil awoke, the first thing she saw was a white ceiling. She blinked in confusion. It was a foreign sight, a sight she had not seen since she was a young woman. Having been well accustomed to the life of a wanderer in the wild, Annúngil had long forgotten what it was like living in a home with a roof, or to lie in a soft bed that which she laid in, no less. She certainly was not in the wild. And for the first time in many years, Annúngil felt warm, rested, and at peace. But for how long, she wondered. Though her memory failed her, the pain from her body was quick to remind her that night in Evendim. Annúngil shuddered at the remembrance, and hoped to push it from her mind as long as possible. Her attention was gathered elsewhere when she glanced down at her clothing. She was not dressed in the garb she wore when she arrived, and when Annúngil attempted to pull herself in a sitting position but failed and slipped right back down, she saw the bandage wrapped around her shoulder.

"Ah, good. You are awake." Annúngil looked to her right and saw an old man sitting in a chair at her bedside. He was garbed in grey head to toe, from his pointy hat to his boots. Even his hair and long beard were grey. He smiled warmly at her, a smile that made him look almost grandfatherly.

"Gandalf." Annúngil smiled. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, it is," he said. Gandalf leaned over and patted her hand. "And you are very fortunate, young Annúngil!"

"What are you doing here?" Annúngil asked him. "Do not mistake my question as an expression of disdain, old friend. I am very happy to see you, but I did not expect to see you for some time."

"Neither did I!" Gandalf chuckled. "I was here seeing a dear friend, and then I heard a Dúnedain woman was brought here, unconscious and wounded. And to my surprise, look who it is I gazed upon!" Gandalf raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Truly, Annúngil, is danger never far from you?"

"So it appears to be," Annúngil said with a sigh.

"However," Gandalf said, as he leaned over and rested his arms on his knees, his eyebrow still raised. "I am curious. How did you come to receive your wounds? I thought you had gone to Evendim."

"I did." It took Annúngil a great deal to not let her emotions affect her. Gandalf did not say anything; he simply waited. But he looked into her eyes, and he knew something was amiss. At length, Annúngil spoke. "I went to Evendim as I had told you…and this happened."

Gandalf was now sitting up straight, his interest very peaked. He looked at her with stern but concerned eyes. "What happened?"

"An attack is what happened," Annúngil said, "Orcs and Dunlings came to Evendim."

"Orcs and Dunlings?"

"Yes. They burned everything and killed all that was in their path. Little of Evendim still stands now, and what remains is but a single arch of a stone wall."

"And Aníriel? Is she well?" Gandalf pressed eagerly.

Annúngil went silent. She took a deep breath and spoke quietly, as if the mere thought drained her. "She is no longer in pain."

Gandalf softly closed his eyes, a look of deep sadness on his aging features. He leaned back in his chair. "This does not bode well," he sighed. "She always thirsted for adventure, to fight orcs just like her sister. I always feared that desire would become the death of her."

"I feared that for her as well, but I do not think her desire for battle was the reason of her death. I think it not a coincidence that orcs and Dunlings came at the same time and brought ruin to Evendim," Annúngil said.

"No. I do not think it a simple matter of excellent timing," Gandalf said grimly. "I cannot say for certain. I wish I had the answer but I do not. It grieves me to learn the death of Aníriel. She meant the world to both of us, and was a woman of honor who kept to her duty, even when she did not desire to carry that duty. And now…" Gandalf sighed heavily, "Now the keeper of the crown is dead. It is yours now, Annúngil. Keep it safe."

Annúngil managed a small smile, but said nothing. She had misplaced her belongings, and her travel bag with it, where the crown had been placed before she had departed from the ruins of her home. But she did not dare think about that. Quickly pushing the thought from her mind, Annúngil gazed around her for a moment, then at the wizard, a look of confusion in her eyes. "Where exactly am I, Gandalf?"

"You, my child, are in the house of Lord Elrond."

Annúngil looked at him incredulously. She knew she was in Rivendell, but she did not think she was in the home to the Elves, and the home of the Lord of Rivendell himself. "Surely not!"

"Indeed so!" The wizard chuckled at the look on her face. "Do not worry yourself about your appearance. Lord Elrond has seen far worse, and you would do little use to yourself to worry about it."

"Alas, my friend!" Annúngil laughed. "I lie in the home to the Elves, and an Elf-lord at that. My pitiful wounded body is far from appropriate in the presence of the Lord of Rivendell, let alone to walk the floors of his home!"

"I would hardly think it that. You have recovered well already." Lord Elrond of Rivendell smiled in amusement as he approached the woman's bedside. He made no indication that he saw the light blush on her cheek. He smiled down at her, a warm smile, and all worries and doubts seemed to flee from her. "Welcome to Rivendell, daughter of Edlendir."

Surprise would be an understatement describing Annúngil's discovery that her name was known to the Lord of Imladris, but one glance at Gandalf told her the wizard has spoken of her, and she wondered how much. Remembering the welcome, Annúngil quickly found her voice. "Thank you, my lord, for your hospitality," she said graciously.

"Those who come to Rivendell wounded and seeking help are not turned away, and neither are those at all who seek peace and respite," Elrond said. It was as if his words reminded him of her wounds, for his eyes fell on her shoulder, wrapped in a bandage. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Annúngil paused for a moment to find the answer. Movement incited pain and her body was still rather sore. To her relief, her body no longer burned at every breath she took. "Better," she replied, returning her gaze to the Elf-lord standing afore her, "The pain lingers but I do not feel as if my body is slowly being torn in half. Thank you."

Elrond nodded at her words. "It will take some time for you to heal. Though your wounds are not grave, they have put a strain on your body. If you wish to move around, you may do as you wish but I warn you to be careful and slow, and rest."

Annúngil nodded. She smiled. "I shall comply, my lord. Fret not. I still feel wearisome and would like to sleep a bit more, if my body allows me to."

"Then we will leave you be," Gandalf kindly decided, rising from his chair. "We would not want you to tire yourself beyond what it already is, and have little sleep for just the sake of company! I shall return to see you in a bit."

Annúngil smiled at his words and nodded slightly, giving the wizard assurance she would heed him. Gandalf turned away and left with Lord Elrond close behind, who stopped and turned to give her a warm smile before he left the room. Closing the door quietly behind them, the Elf-lord sighed heavily as he turned to the wizard, who looked just as troubled and weary as he was. "She was uncomfortable," was the first thing Elrond said.

"She has wounds, my lord Elrond. I am certain she is very uncomfortable at the moment."

Despite the amusement in the wizard's innocent response – one the Elf-lord knew it was an attempted game but a hopeless one, he still did not show a positive reaction to his words. "You know that is not what I meant, Gandalf. It is well known Dwarves hold hostility to the Elves. Why, it is half-expected to be greeted by their insolent words. But to see a woman squirm in the presence of an Elf…that is questionable."

"I am sure there is a reason for it."

"Yes, there must be," Elrond agreed. However, his eyes narrowed. "But I do not think it is a simple matter of adjustment to her new surroundings or the possibility of astonishment.

"Ah." Gandalf raised his head, now understanding. "You fear she is a threat, then?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny it," Elrond answered. "I am concerned, however. You tell me she is the daughter of Edlendir, the last remaining in the line of Handaer, but I do not think that is true. The crown is said to have been lost long ago. There are several tales about its disappearance but it is always said no eye, mortal or immortal, has laid eyes on it for many centuries. How can we be certain this is truly the descendant of the line of Handaer?"

"Do you not trust my words, Lord Elrond?"

"I trust your words, my old friend. But it is her that I doubt."

"Then allow me to relay a tale to you, if you will hear me."

Elrond gave a curt nod. "Very well."

"I trust you are aware of the accord between Arnor and Gondor, and the custom that was made in the line of Handaer?" At the silent nod of confirmation to his question, Gandalf continued, "Good. Then you know Edlendir was the heir of Handaer, and he himself had the right to bring the crown to Gondor if he so wished. But what many do not know is that he had two daughters, Aníriel and Annúngil."

Elrond's face did not change. "I did not know there was a second child of Edlendir."

"Yes. He had two daughters, and only two daughters. He had no other children. Aníriel was the youngest daughter, and as you know of the accord that was made, it is youngest in the line of Handaer who shall bring the crown forth to Gondor."

"And yet, Edlendir himself had the chance to bring the heirloom himself and regain his family's honor," Elrond noted.

Gandalf nodded. "Yes."

"Why did he not take the opportunity, then?"

"He wanted Aníriel to be the one to come forth and bring the crown. To have the glory in its return, and for one purpose only. So that the King of Gondor would find favor in her, and she would become the Queen."

"And you believe our guest is Aníriel?"

Gandalf paused. There was a look of hesitation in his eyes, and he stood silent for a moment collecting the words he wished to say. At length he spoke, carefully, "That is not Aníriel, my Lord Elrond," he said with regret. He sighed. "That is her older sister, Annúngil. Aníriel, I am afraid, was slain in an attack upon Evendim while protecting the crown. It was her sister who took the crown and fled from Evendim as hastily as she could. As you can see, she was slowed down in her attempts but managed nonetheless.

But many do not know there was a second child of Edlendir. Annúngil was forced into exile by her own people upon her coming of age. They believed her to be in possession of the crown, and found Aníriel to be of no threat. But what they did not know is that Annúngil placed the crown in Aníriel's care before she left. Neither Annúngil nor Aníriel had possession of the crown. In secret, Edlendir himself had the crown and hid it, for the safety and honor of the duty. Annúngil knew where he had hidden it, but she never possessed it. It was not until her exile that she brought it forth from its hiding spot and gave it to her sister. For some peculiar reason they always suspected the older of the two to have the crown, although that is not what the terms of the tradition say from ages ago."

As soon as Gandalf finished speaking, he heaved a long sigh, his mouth dry from his prolonged speaking. He patiently waited for the Elf-lord's response, who had been intently regarding and contemplating his words. His emotions were well masked, a skill he had long ago obtained, but even Gandalf saw the slightest hint of derision in his eyes. "There is no crown in her possession that I saw when she was brought here, Gandalf."

"My lord Elrond—"

"How can you be so certain of this? Words do little against the actions that which justify the truth behind what comes from their mouth. I am sorry for her loss. The look in her eyes I saw tells me she indeed has been through difficult toils, but I have my doubts about her. Even the wisest can be fooled, my friend. It has happened before, and it would not be the last time. What certainty lies behind this?"

"She told me this—"

"And you believe her words?"

Gandalf's eyes, that were once soft and showing affection as he spoke of Annúngil, were no longer kind and instead showed irritation and disapproval. "I believe her words because she wept before me at my feet!" the wizard answered with a firm tone, slamming his staff on the white marble floor. Then, like gentle waves of the water, his face softened. "I looked into her eyes. These were no fake tears. She was telling me the truth. I ask you, Lord Elrond, trust my words. She truly is the last remaining of the line of Handaer."

Like the wizard's, the Elf-lord's face softened somewhat and his eyes shined with a small glint of sadness. "Very well. I trust your words, Gandalf, as I always have. If this is truly the line of Handaer, then she now carries the hardship that which the crown brings along bearing the death of her sister."

"And continue to live in exile," Gandalf added, solemnly. "It had always been a painful memory for her. But now her home lay in burnt ashes, with those who she knew and loved among the ruins, and her sister with it. It is a hurt that will take some time to heal from."

"I do not see her wishing to continue carrying the duty unless it is required of her, and there is only one who may call upon her to succeed in it and she be willing to do so."

At that, Gandalf smiled. "That time, I believe, Lord Elrond, is just about to come."

It was such a small thing. Delicate. Beautiful. It was fitted for a queen, Aragorn knew that much, and the satchel it fell out of bore the markings of the Dúnedain. He knew what it was. He had heard too many tales and rumors about it to be ignorant of it. The ranger had treaded many roads and dangers, and had seen many things in his lifetime; some grim, some not so, and some simply of beauty. But never before had he laid eyes on such a graceful sight, so riveted with its beauty that the rough man did not know how to hold the crown in his hands, or if he should at all. But he decided holding it in his hands would be better treatment to such a shining elegance as he returned to the Last Homely House, rather than place it back in the burlap bag that had apparently been containing it.

But Lord Elrond was neither surprised nor concerned when the crown was presented to him. There was not even a glimmer of emotion in his eyes that gave away his thoughts. He held the circlet light in his hands with delicate fingers, his eyes gazing over every inch. Aragorn knew little of the crown presented, only mere tales and rumors he heard throughout his years in the wild and education of the lore of his people, although there was little lore to be read about it. However, one glance from the Elf-lord and Aragorn understood he knew something that not even the lore had seen, or his people to learn of. And he would too learn of this. Elrond simply smiled at him. "How did you come to find this?"

"It was not far from the valley of Rivendell, where I had found the young woman in need of great aid," Aragorn answered. "Something urged me to take a walk, and not a short one either. I do believe I would have come across it another time had I not, as I am often known to take many walks, but I am glad I took a stroll when I did. I cannot imagine such a delicacy being trampled by arriving travelers."

"Indeed," Elrond said, turning to him. "It would be a dear shame should that have happened, and it is great fortune you came across it when you did. This is from a significant lineage, having been past from daughter to daughter upon the sworn oath between a King and a family's loyalty. But you did not bring this to me to hear what you already know."

"No, I did not," Aragorn replied. He sighed heavily, his concern evident and at large. Elrond understood but he allowed him to speak. "I dare not question your guests. Often they come in need of respite and peace, to unweigh their heavy hearts from their toils; and some come injured and seeking aid. The woman whom I brought to you needed the latter. But yet her possession concerns me and I cannot help but wonder it."

Elrond nodded at his words as he observed the ranger, noticing his care with his words "Do you fear there is a possibility that she obtained it in a very immoral manner?"

"Perhaps." Despite his concern, Aragorn smiled slightly. "But something tells me you know more than what meets the eyes, and my fears are but little thoughts."

"It is not forbidden for a man to worry for the safety of his home or others and be wary of strange comings." It was his turn to smile. "This is indeed a strange occurrence. You know the story as well as any other living Dúnedain, perhaps better than I do," Elrond said. "The crown is not yet supposed to have come from its hiding, if it still yet existed."

"There are several tales circulating its disappearance," Aragorn thoughtfully recalled out loud. "But it was thought to be lost, buried deep somewhere in the ruins in the kingdom of Arnor."

"Fate has its own peculiar ways it seems. The tale of how the crown has come out of its secrecy is baffling…and grim, I am afraid."

"When is it not?" Aragorn asked dryly.

Elrond sighed in response as he remembered the story relayed to him from Gandalf. "Rarely," he said despondently. "The woman whom you brought to me is Annúngil. She is the first born daughter and child of Edlendir."

To say the least, Aragorn was surprised. "Indeed she possesses the crown!" he murmured. "She hails from a lineage of the duty!"

"Yes," Elrond replied with a slight nod. Unlike Aragorn's expression of astonishment, the Elf-lord showed a different emotion: Sadness. "And now remains the only member of her family. Her younger sister was the keeper of the crown, as I am sure you are aware of by the folklore; the youngest daughter shall keep the crown safe and uphold the failed duty of her ancestors. I am afraid the youngest daughter of Edlendir remains no more. Annúngil had returned to Evendim, her home, to see her sister. It was invaded that very night, and her sister was one of the many who fell. You saw the injuries Annúngil bore when you brought her to be healed. You can perhaps envision how heavy the night was with war and blood. Evendim is only but a memory of what it once was, mere dust and stone in ruin.

Annúngil fled with the crown. She is now the keeper of the crown, and is the only one who can fulfill her family's broken oath. She knows this and carries it with her, but the burden and the death of her sister is a heavy weight on her. But she will see to the fulfillment if it is asked of her, I do not doubt. The love of her people is great and I do not think she would ignore the call."

Aragorn took a moment to contemplate his words. The frown on his face and the faint glimmer in his eyes told Elrond he was disheartened by this tale of recent events, and he was saddened for the woman. But in his eyes also sparkled a small speckle of concern as a thought then came to his mind. "This world is trodden with less honorable people, and little truth to their words no less. How can we truly know for certain this is the descendant from the line Handaer?"

"She is a good friend of Gandalf. He vouches for her and knows the lineage of Handaer better than anyone who walks in Middle-Earth, even your own people," Elrond answered. "I find it very unlikely for the wizard to be fooled, and by a mortal no less. I had doubted his words at first but the look in his eyes told me this was no lie. He would know. If Gandalf says this is so, then I have no disbelief it is."

Aragorn let out a quiet, thoughtful hum. If the uncertainty was missed in his tone, then it was not missed by the look in his eyes. Gandalf was a dear friend to him, and had many allies from his travels. Aragorn dared not question his nor Lord Elrond's wisdom, or the great strength in the wizard's trust to the woman. But even after the words spoken to him from the lips Elrond, his doubts remained. Was this truly the line, an ancestry tasked that has been long forgotten? Aragorn could not say. He trusted the words spoken to him, yet the concern remained. It did not go by unnoticed. Elrond smiled at him. "You are not at wrong to worry."

"If she is who she is claimed to be, then she must gather as much patience as she can. That time has yet to come."

"No but it shall, and I suspect soon. I feel the forthcoming of the Ring is beckoning that time to drawn near. Her family waited with a burning anxiety and a burden on their shoulders for the call of Isildur, but that call has not come forth yet. They have all but passed silently in the years. Now one is left. And yet, great strength still remains. Hers has been shown to us. The oath may yet be fulfilled."

"Do you think she would be willing? The name of Edlendir is spat at, and what family of his remains ridiculed and reminded of their failure. It would be no light task to her heart."

"She is faithful to her kin, and having been the oldest out of the two daughters of Edlendir, she knows of the importance of the task. But she will only do so if one man calls upon her to do so." The Elf-lord paused to smile. "Her chieftain."

"I do believe, Lord Elrond…" Aragorn spoke slowly, pausing for a short moment to turn his attention to the window next to him, his eyes fixed on the vision given to him through the glass. "I will have to meet Annúngil to determine if she can be trusted."


	3. Chapter 3

**First and foremost, I would like to give my thanks to my beta-reader, HiddenValor. She is a very sweet lady and has helped me through a couple of struggles in the recent chapters of _Arnor's Hope_, and has really helped me out. Thank you, HV! You are just so lovely. Secondly, I would like to thank you wonderful reviewers. Your feedback means the world to me - truly, it really does, and I don't think I could ever enough express my gratitude! I only hope to continue to hear from you as more chapters are posted. Your feedback is very helpful and encouraging, and its simply a nice thing knowing what others think of your work. So, thank you!**

**Nuit - I absolutely love that name. Nuit. Its just so cute! I enjoyed reading your review, and it made me really happy to hear the crown has peaked your interest, such is my intention for the readers! So I was happy to hear that. Not to worry - you will soon learn more about the crown, especially Annúngil. I am not sure if you have read the books or only seen the movies, but the movies portray him a little bit...different, so to speak than what his actual character is in the books. I won't go into full detail about it but Aragorn's character is going to be according to the books rather than the movies in my story.  
><strong>

**Fan Fictional Authoress - I can't stop re-reading your review! I don't know how many times I have read it. I perfectly understand your ship of ArwenxAragorn, and much less of an AragornxOC. A lot of AragornxOC stories I read are pretty bland and lack in several things, and there really is no originality in it. I am hoping to make _Arnor's Hope_ very different from the others, and I really hope to be persuasive with Annúngil. ;) I am certainly going to try my hardest!  
><strong>

**Siriania - I love your questions. I wish I could answer them! Soon...It shall be soon. ;)  
><strong>

**Two-Mile-Radius - By no means was your feedback annoying or a waste read! I enjoyed it. I truly do appreciate any feedback I get, and I am really glad it has peaked your interest!**

**Okay, that is enough of me blabbering away. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is worshiped!**

**Happy Thanksgiving!**

* * *

><p>Rest did wonders for her. Annúngil felt somewhat better than she did earlier, though the pain continued to linger. In her experience of being a bearer of wounds, she knew it would be some time before the pain would ease. Annúngil contemplated for a moment whether she would get out of bed – or rather, try. Her body felt well rested but also tense from lying down all day, and she was eager to stretch her limbs. Getting out of bed proved to be an enormous task, however. The slightest movement incited a deep burning sensation, and the more she moved, the deeper the pain became. Her body urged her to stop, but Annúngil ignored it. Slowly, she eased out of bed, one leg at a time until finally she stood on her own feet at the bedside, but she held onto the nightstand next to her for support. Her body ached terribly and she stood for a moment, allowing her breath to return properly as she wiped sweat from her forehead that had formed during her difficult efforts.<p>

"I would not hear the end of it from Faeldir if he could see me," she murmured to herself with a chuckle. He was always a man of jest but this time, he truly would not allow the vision she showed to slip past from mention for quite some time, possibly years.

It was most likely close to evening. The bright sunlight that had illuminated the room earlier that day was now dim, and her stomach gave several low growls to confirm her suspicions. Now would be a good time to explore the Elven home and seek information when she could eat. Lethargy was beginning to settle upon her after her strained efforts, and she was not about to return to bed. Perhaps a nice meal would make her feel better.

Annúngil spotted a small table off to a corner in the room. A window was not too far from it, and the evening rays of the sun illuminated her belongings on the table, where a particular white sparkle shone from the openings of her travel satchel. Annúngil furrowed her eyebrows and went over to the table, and carefully pushed her belongings to the side as she tried to get a better look where the white glow came from. Half sitting in the satchel was the crown, its elegant white gem shining beautifully and with life under the caress of the sun's light. She did not remember where it had been when she arrived to Rivendell. All she remembered was falling from her stallion and a man coming to her aid, and all went dark for her. Perhaps she had the crown with her the entire time and did not notice.

It was safe. That was all that mattered.

Her eyes were drawn to the crown's gem, a hue whiter than snow itself; its bright glow held her reflection, and Annúngil could not tear her gaze away from it. The woman in the reflection stared at her with the same expression which she felt within her. Was this truly her? Annúngil did not believe it. This was hardly the woman she once was. Once. The word lingered in her head. She was once different; happy, content – even in the midst of her exile in the wild she was very content with her life, but slowly that changed. It began with losing the one ability she loved so dearly – to shoot an arrow, a custom among the Rangers of the North that meant dearly to her. She was not a Ranger and it confused many of her allies, but they dared not question it for they saw the joy it brought her and said naught. She was once a very good archer. It mattered not anymore. That was long ago.

She was no longer who she once was. She was changed.

Annúngil's attention was then torn away from her belongings as she caught a glimpse of red smeared on the back of her hand. Turning her hands over, she saw they were covered in dried blood. But it was not hers nor the Dunlending she fought. As far as she could recall she laid no hand on him after she killed him. No, this was Aníriel's blood. Annúngil swallowed as she forced back her tears, staring at her hands with eyes not daring to move. Her eyes fell to a close and she breathed deeply, and after a moment her nerves were calm and she lowered her hands to her sides. She wished not to think about it. Not now.

The Last Homely House, Annúngil discovered, was rather large. The halls and doors seemed infinite in number, and the times she got lost were more in number but she was not looking for anything in particular. She simply wandered, hoping to find something or someone to guide her to fulfill her stomachs persist growls. Despite her hunger, Annúngil could not help but marvel at the Elven home. She had never seen such beauty – not even the shimmering waters of Lake Evendim bathed in the white light of the crescent moon could be compared to the house of the Elves. The Dúnedain had their own beautiful foundations and landmarks, but much of it has fallen into ruins, only mere stones and tales simply for entertainment.

It was sad indeed. Arnor had been her home, and now it was falling into darkness, just as her family and friends did…and her sister.

"You should not be out of bed," spoke a voice from behind.

Annúngil turned, and in front of her stood a man with dark hair. He wore an elegant grey tunic, a silver broach in likeness of leaves clipped in the front at his neck, his matching silver eyes concerned, but kind. Annúngil recognized him. At the time her vision had been too blurred for her to see his face, but she remembered his dark hair and voice, only this time he was not garbed in leather of forest colors. This was the man who came to her aid. He saved her life. "I remember you. You—"

His nod interrupted her. "I brought you to Lord Elrond. Yes."

"I… Thank you. I think it would have been difficult returning to my saddle, least coming to the House of Lord Elrond conscious," was all Annúngil managed to say, returning him a light smile.

His response was a slight smile and a nod at first, then he spoke, "You should be resting. It is not wise to test your injuries, no matter the severity of them. You have a few of them. Do not strain your body."

"I slept for some time, my lord. My legs cry out to be stretched. Lying in bed is something I am not well accustomed to." Her stomach chose no better time to remind her of its hunger – yet again – and growled. Unfortunately, unlike the several times it had been growling throughout the evening, it was not a quiet sound. The man heard this and looked amused with one eyebrow cocked in the air. Annúngil blushed. "And hungry," she added with a laugh.

"It appears so!" he chuckled, "Come. We will remedy that." He then gestured her to follow as he turned and began a brisk walk down the hall. Annúngil wordlessly followed him, noting the twists and turns they took, and in what direction they went. Annúngil was certain it would be as confusing and difficult finding her way back to her room. Paying close attention to her surroundings and the detail of it would be a great help when she returned to her chambers.

They soon arrived to the dining hall. Annúngil could not have felt more relieved but she soon found herself marveling the room. The hall was rather large; a white, wide table sat in the center of the room, covered with various plates of food, beverages and small but beautiful décor. It was mostly Elves who sat at the table but Annúngil saw a small number of Dwarves, three Hobbits, and a few Men. There was a soft chatter in the dining hall. She faintly heard rough voices, from the Dwarves without question, but most were silent as they carefully watched around them. They were wary – but not nervous as she was. Wonderful. She found another way to gain disapproval from the Elves.

The awe had long left her, and what was left of it – if there was even any – surely completely faded the moment she sat down. Several eyes fell on her – Elven eyes, gazing at her curiously. It made her nervous. Annúngil quickly moved her attention elsewhere and found the napkin on the table particularly interesting. She listened to the chatter around her, though it was quickly forgotten. Annúngil didn't even realize she was joined by someone and several moments passed without their presence being known to her. Annúngil had been so wrapped up with her thoughts that she was startled when they spoke.

"You look tense."

Annúngil jumped and looked to her side. The man – Estel, she remember hearing the name being spoken and seeing him raising his head in response – sat next to her. He studied her discreetly with his grey eyes, his emotions hidden well but the light tone of softness not. She forced a smile. "I feel worse than I feel," Annúngil murmured.

Estel leaned over to her, concerned. "Is it your wounds?"

Truthfully, it was, but she did not say that. It was only partly true. Her tension was also due to the presence of the Elves. "No," Annúngil lied. "I am hungry is all. Perhaps a little tired too. I will be fine." She knew it was a horrible lie, and she knew he did not believe her. He became more certain of his thoughts when she again turned her attention the napkin on the table in front of her.

Just as she said that, the plates and bowls of food, and goblets of wine were passed around for everyone to get their filling, and everyone began to eat. Annúngil did not have much of an appetite now, despite her stomach's previous loud claims to being hungry earlier, but she ate. She knew she needed the nutrition, and would later regret it if she did not eat. She did, though slowly. The chatter continued. The Elves spoke softly, the Dwarves greedily ate and gave a roaring laugh in the midst of their conversations now and then, and the Hobbits happily ate. It was then when she raised her head she saw a few others had joined the table, one of them she recognized as Lord Elrond. Even Gandalf joined, winking at her as he slowly seated himself. Annúngil could not help but smile.

From the corner of her eye she looked at the man sitting next to her. He was perhaps a peculiar man to some. He was quiet and his eyes often spoke words without him opening his mouth. They were deep and thoughtful, but often most times he showed no expression. He hid his emotions well as if he wore an unseen mask over his eyes. Despite that, there was a soft light in them; concern and love were like a bright star in his silver eyes. His wisdom was evident. He was careful and thoughtful, and smiled slightly, nodded, and spoke quietly but never said much. In a way, there was almost a grim look on his face, as if he never permitted himself to be happy. As if he was always reminded by something. Annúngil knew the look and behavior well. She had seen it many a times. And that eased her nervousness somewhat.

However, Estel knew he was being looked at. Her actions were careful but the years in the wild has taught him much, and he never missed eyes that were upon him. Without looking at her, he spoke. "What is it about me you find so intriguing?"

Annúngil showed no reaction to the man's knowledge of her stare, though within her cheeks threatened to burn brightly. "Was I too conspicuous?"

"You are speaking to a man who has spent countless years in the wild, well beyond the years of your youth." It was his turn to look at her from the corner of his eye, his lips twitching, "Yes. Quite so."

Annúngil spoke, answering his question and the thought that had been on her mind. "You are a Dúnedain, a Ranger of the North."

"You observe remarkably well," Estel remarked, "But I do not believe a simple observation is what aided you in knowing so."

"No, it is not," Annúngil admitted. "Your posture and how you speak with others is two of the many. You hold a number of traits a ranger possesses."

Estel was intrigued. "Are you acquainted with the rangers?"

Annúngil's face fell. There was a short pause of silence, and he did not miss the sadness in her eyes. "I would not say acquainted," she softly answered. "I once lived among the rangers for several years. They protected my home. I am one of them myself, a Dúnedain. But then came a time for me to…part from them. I went away after that."

Estel observed her during the time she spoke. He saw there was more to her words but the clarity of it remained unseen to him. "Your eyes speak more," he said. "What could you have possibly done to make the rangers be distrustful of you so?"

"You will find it strange."

He merely smiled. "I believe we have gone over this already. Will you not try?"

"For being born, my lord. I was driven from my home – by my own people – because I was born and became of age. But I hold not a grudge against them. They meant it in a way to protect their people that which was their duty. If only my sister had seen it the way I did."

"I am sorry."

"Do not be. It was a long time ago, and yet my heart still yearns for home. Shall I ever find it, I wonder."

"One day." Estel gave her a smile. "One day you will, and the remembrance of your past will be but distant memories to you."

"I truly hope," she sighed.

Annúngil said nothing more after that. Estel read her face; it was very clear. It pained her to speak of it, no less to think about it. He said no more. The night continued on, growing later by the passing hour. Annúngil delightfully listened to the conversations spoken by different hosts; Elves, Dwarves, and even the small number of Hobbits happily chipped in and told an enjoyable story or two that incited chuckles and amusement. Among the Elves was an Elf-maiden. She was not simply a maiden; she stood out strongly in the host of her kin. She was beautiful, possessing beauty that Annúngil had not ever seen before – not even the Elven home. Her hair was dark and braided, and a silver circlet rested upon her forehead. It was as if twilight itself was intertwined within her hair, and Annúngil wondered if she was one of Elrond's kin. Her grey eyes shone brightly. In her glance was wisdom and knowledge, and Annúngil suddenly felt lesser in her presence.

The Elf-maiden's eyes, tenderly gazing over the table as she kindly listened to a story being told by a Dwarf; though strange and rowdy their customs were, yet interesting all the same, her gaze shifted to Annúngil. She smiled at her. Her smile was bright, as if a star danced upon her lips. Annúngil lowered her gaze to her half-empty plate, but the Elf-maiden was not offended by the motion. "I heard you had come to Imladris bearing wounds. How do you now fare?" The Elf-maiden spoke to her, kindly and concern gracing her soft-spoken tongue.

Annúngil was surprised to have been spoken to. She had thought to be a less appealing sight to most around her – A woman sitting quietly and barely eating her food, disquieted as she dwelled deeply in her thoughts. "Well, my lady. Thank you. I am only sore now." Annúngil tried to show her gratitude for the Elf's concern, though the nervousness remained yet to be diminished.

The Elf-maiden smiled. "I am glad. Rest, and have peace as you heal from your wounds."

_If only_, Annúngil thought bitterly to herself. She forced a smile and bowed her head at the Elf-maiden.

The night grew, and the lively mood soon waned into weariness. Several guests had excused themselves already, graciously thanking for the delicious meal before returning to their room. A few still remained, Annúngil one of them. Her appetite spent and her mind and body tired, now that the once a many chatter had calmed down, Annúngil soon rose from her seat and quietly left. Only a few remained at the table, those to thank for their gracious hospitality having already taken their leave, and Annúngil was far too tired with her thoughts heavy on her mind to bid a simple 'goodnight'. She hoped none saw her quiet departure, although cared little if she was noticed or not at all.

Much to her surprise – and wonderful luck – Annúngil found her room with little difficulty. She went in a circle along the many, very similar halls once, perhaps twice, but soon recognized the way to her room from her walk with Estel to the dining hall. As soon as Annúngil laid her head on her pillow she drifted into a deep sleep, though it was not a pleasant one. She was visited by a dream, a memory that was but a distant visage to her now, yet it haunted her all the same. It roused her from her sleep with a startle, breathless and drenched in cold sweat. After several moments attempting to fall back to sleep, she gave up and rose out of bed, and turned to the window near her bed. The moon shone brightly tonight, its silver rays of light radiant with a beautiful glow. Annúngil could not remember when she last saw such a beautiful evening. It had been so long ago, it felt, though she knew it was not so. It was her brief, and all too recent, visit to Evendim when the moon last shone so beautifully. What joy Annúngil felt as she marveled at the night quickly vanished as the memory of Evendim filled her mind, and all she felt was grief.

Innocent lives were wasted and cut into the ground. The Rangers were dead. Her home now lay in ruins of ash and dust, and rubble. Her sister was dead. And it was her fault. "I am sorry, Aníriel," Annúngil whispered, "I am sorry I could not protect you."

Annúngil closed her eyes tightly and leaned heavily against the wall, and she softly wept. The remembrance came upon her like a wave, harsh and cold, and relentless, laying a heavy havoc onto her very weary body. The memories of that night came back to her and she wept harder, though nothing made her weep the most than the thought of her sister dying in her arms. After some time she calmed down, and there were no more tears to shed; but her grief did not pass. It clung to her insides like cobwebs stick to flies, holding them fast until the spider can return to eat them. She wanted to escape, but knew that struggling was futile. She had a duty to uphold, after all.

Annúngil raised her head and across from her sat the crown, basking in the bright silvery moonlight, but when she approached the crown she hardly felt a radiant beauty from it, but a feeling of emptiness settling in her heart. When she was a young girl she had marveled the stories of the crown of Handaer and often wondered how it would feel to run her fingers over the infamous white gem, the crowned beauty of the head piece. Now…It only brought her a sense of loss. How could she fulfill the duty of her ancestors when others before her failed – when those trying to protect it perished? Would she too fall the same fate, or would she be graced?

Annúngil did not know. She could not say. Whether by life or death, she _will_ fulfill the oath.


End file.
